


My year with Regina - April 11th

by postmortem



Series: 365 Days [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmortem/pseuds/postmortem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina Mills and Emma Swan had one year together. This a series of stories from those 365 days. They are not in chronological order.</p><p>All parts of the series can be read as stand-alone pieces.</p><p>Please be aware that this piece contains mentions of suicide and self harm. Be safe!</p>
            </blockquote>





	My year with Regina - April 11th

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post something rather fluffy next, but it felt wrong? I like this style better, but since their year together couldn't have been all angst, maybe I will post some lighter things. Not sure yet.

Have you ever needed someone so much, your whole being was fueled by an electricity that you’ve never felt before, never knew you needed until you let go of them, and only to say goodnight, or for the day, or because they left the room for a minute? When your whole being is her, when every breath you take is for her, when every single second of every single day reminds you of something she’s done, said, is?

We have so much in common, too much, and I’m not convinced that I won’t take her down with me, or that she won’t take me down with her, and I would go down with her in a heartbeat. Because I would go anywhere she goes, and I would do so gladly, and without hesitation. I would give her my heart - pun intended - and my soul, and I would give her my skin even if it meant sitting with my flesh on display and every nerve-ending exposed. I would give her my dignity and my pride and my last breath. There is not a cell in my body that doesn’t want to be hers desperately.

I want to crawl into her, drape her around me like a robe, let her break me and fix me, own me.

She found me on the floor again, slumped against the wall, banging my head over and over and over. Wrists open, in a misguided attempt to release the memories of the darkness. Clutching my knife still, blade digging into my palm. She healed me right away, of course she did, and I tried to run, but she caught me and threw me on the bed with surprising strength.

I writhe beneath her, trying to get away as much as trying to get closer, impossibly close, and she is small, but she pushes me down into the mattress. She’s straddling my thighs, putting her weight into her arms that are holding mine down on either side, to keep them from ripping gashes into the skin on my face with my nails. Her breathing is heavy. She says that she can’t let me hurt myself now, and that she is sorry, and that she understands, and that I am the worst Ex-Dark One ever for wanting to kill myself instead of others. I don’t even think she was joking with the last bit.

Her eyes glare at me, and it’s the strangest thing ever, they look right into me, and I pray to everything that’s dark and good that she can’t read my thoughts, or see the images I see. For that would destroy me, and then her, and then me again.

She asks “what do you need, Emma?”, and I say “I need you to let go of me.” She asks me if I’m going to hurt myself again if she does. “Yes.” She asks me why. “Because I need to hurt someone.”

“Hurt me instead”, she says.

“No.”

“What do you need, Emma?” I remember the first time she asked me that question. I cried. Because nobody had ever wanted to know. Nobody had ever asked her, either, so she understood. She makes sure she asks me often. I say “I don’t know, I just don’t know”.

_I need you, but I can’t tell you just how much, I don’t want to scare you. I need everything you are, everything you’ve been and everything you will ever be. And I want to rip myself to shreds, and then set them on fire, because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be this dark when you feel so light, but I don’t know how to be light when the darkness is in every fiber of my being, still, even after you saved me. I don’t know how to be this person._

“It’s okay if you don’t know. And I’m sorry I couldn’t respect your wishes. But I’m terrified, because I may be able to stop you from doing it, but I can’t make you not want it. And you deserve so much better than wanting to die.”

There it is. We have never said the words out loud. A bolt of pain shoots through my heart.

I stop moving, and trying to escape, and lay completely still. She collapses on top of me and tucks her head into the crook of my neck, nuzzling my skin. Her hands are still holding mine down, all of our arms stretched out on both sides like a fucked up Jesus statue. I’m starting to relax, and so is she, and I can feel the movement of her breasts and her stomach against me with every breath she takes.

“So tell me Emma, what do you need?”, she whispers.

Now or never. “You. This. And it scares me.”

She’s silent for a minute.

“I’m so proud of you for saying it. I know you are afraid of needing anyone.”

I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the panic to return, and for my skin to start crawling again. Her breath against my neck feels comforting. Her entire body pressing down on mine, warmth flooding into my frozen bones. I kiss the top of her head, her hair is tickling my nose. I feel wetness on my neck, and I realize it’s her tears, not mine. I say “what do _you_ need, Regina?”

She lifts her head and looks me in the eyes, and she’s never let me see her cry, but now she does. And she looks so vulnerable, so young. So scared. And I have never been more ashamed of myself. For doing this to her.

“I need you to be alive, you idiot.” Tears streaming down her face.

Despite the situation, I laugh, and she chuckles and lays her head back down.

She kisses my neck. “I need you to be alive so I can do this.” She kisses my cheek. “And this.” She kisses my lips. “And also, this.” She starts rocking her hips against me. Slowly. She’s still restraining my arms.

“What else?”, I whisper.

“This…”, and she kisses me again, her tongue sliding against me, my lips parting to let her in. I taste tears and desperation and love. She comes up for breath, and leans her forehead against mine.

“Don’t stop”, I breathe, and it comes out needier than I’d intended. She kisses my nose and says “I would feel like I’m taking advantage of you right now. I shouldn’t have started, I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, I can’t help but to laugh, and I laugh and laugh, and I try to catch my breath, and I can’t stop, and she lets go of my hands and looks at me questioningly, worried. I put my now free arms around her, holding her close. When I can manage to speak, I say “do you know anyone more fucked up than the two of us, Regina?”, and then she starts laughing too, and we laugh for an eternity. And when we can’t laugh anymore, we both start crying, and we cry, clutching each other, mourning, hurting, together.

And in that moment, I suddenly know. I am ridiculously and helplessly in love with Regina Mills.


End file.
